


the witched hours of want

by quensty



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, Friends With Benefits, Fuckbuddies, Implied Sexual Content, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:48:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24227605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quensty/pseuds/quensty
Summary: Honestly, this isn’t even in the top five worst things Allison has ever done, but maybe it’s in the top ten.
Relationships: Allison Reynolds/Renee Walker (All For The Game)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 76





	the witched hours of want

**Author's Note:**

  * For [somewhereoverthebifrost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/somewhereoverthebifrost/gifts).



> um. so i guess all i can really say for myself is that i saw [this post w v's tags](https://somewhereoverthebifrost.tumblr.com/post/190605767002/every-fuck-buddy-to-lovers-fic-on-ao3) and i blacked out for a few days. when i woke up this was sitting in my drive. 
> 
> i'm just gonna say now there's no descriptive sex here bc i refuse to write porn, get self-conscious about it in a month, and then delete it. i’d rather have us both avoid the pain altogether. i'm sorry if that's a bummer for u. 
> 
> anyway! the title is from natalie diaz's "[from the desire field](https://poets.org/poem/desire-field)" !! 

Honestly, this isn’t even in the top five worst things Allison has ever done, but maybe it’s in the top ten.

The Foxes clustered into Matt’s room to drink last night for the first time this season, and Allison bought a shit ton of good whiskey she didn’t touch a drop of. Which is probably the worst part of this whole mess: She wasn’t even drunk for it, too afraid that once she started she’d go overboard, and then Renee wouldn’t have let Allison catch her face between her hands the way Allison had been planning for weeks, wouldn’t have let Allison lead her past the doorway to Allison’s room, wouldn’t have bolted her hand at the small of Allison’s spine, wouldn’t have said yes when Allison asked. Allison was half expecting her to say no anyway.

It’s good. Of course it’s fucking good. It’s Renee, and Allison has wanted to see what she looks like in Allison’s bed for months.

She wakes up the next morning around dawn. The sky's still blue with faint pinpricks of stars scattered around, but the parted curtains let in enough light for Allison to see the faint impression left in the mattress. When Allison reaches out with her fingers, the place where Renee should be is cold.

***

Allison is prepared for Renee to ignore her the following morning, maybe do some artful sidestepping, and avoid the whole thing altogether. Instead, Allison walks into the kitchen dressed and freshly showered to see Dan and Matt hunched over their bowls of cereal at the counter, looking miserable. Beside them, Renee is flipping through one of her assigned readings and sipping a glass of orange juice.

“You two look like shit,” she says.

“Fuck you,” Dan grumbles while Matt asks, “How are you _not_ trashed?” with as much indignance as his migraine allows him.

She shrugs, pulling a sparkling water out of the fridge. “I know how to handle a few whiskeys, Boyd.”

He huffs and turns back to his cereal with a muttered, “Bullshit.”

“Good morning, Allison,” Renee cuts in just as Allison opens her mouth to respond. 

She stops, momentarily surprised, but then remembers she kind of wants to be pissed, and for once, she doesn’t want an audience. She doesn’t think she could handle the Foxes berating her on top of all the other shit she has to deal with, and anyways it's—she doubts Renee would easily forgive her for something like that.

Annoyed that she gives a fuck, Allison turns the sink’s faucet so she has an excuse to turn her back to Renee. “Hey.”

From over the running water, she hears Matt say, “It’s too bad you don’t drink. The spiced rum Allison brought yesterday was amazing. I drank like half the bottle.”

“Clearly,” Dan murmurs.

Allison can hear the smile in Renee’s voice when she says, “It’s not my drink of choice.”

Allison can’t help but think that Renee’s voice sounds different than it did last night. After nearly five years, she can tell the difference between the real Renee and the mask Natalie hides behind.

She doesn’t sound soft or fond. She doesn’t sound pleading or desperate or just slightly irritable, like Allison is going too slow and Renee is balancing on the razor edge—

“Allison?” Matt asks. “What’s up?”

Allison bites the inside of her cheek and switches off the faucet. She faces Matt and says, “If you’re going to be eating breakfast here every day, you’re going to start pitching in with groceries.”

“I brought beer.”

“And drank all of it,” she points out. “Captain?”

“Shut up,” Dan says, checking her phone and tossing her bowl into the sink. “Come on. We’re gonna be late.”

At the door, Renee lingers at Allison’s back while she locks it. Allison can feel her eyes boring holes into Allison's skull while Dan and Matt make their way to the elevator, completely out of earshot, so there’s nothing stopping Renee from asking her, “How are you?”

“Peachy,” she snaps.

“Allison, I just want to say—“

“Listen, we don’t have to talk about it,” Allison interrupts her. She's already expecting Renee to tell her that it would be irresponsible for them to pretend this was anything more than some friendly sex. As if Renee could ever pursue anything substantial with someone like Allison, who either gets bored with people after a month or ends up getting them killed. “I would actually prefer we didn’t.”

Renee’s expression shutters. “All right,” she agrees after a moment. “If that’s what you want.”

“Perfect,” Allison says, walking past her to follow Dan and Matt. Fucking perfect.

***

She doesn’t mean for it to happen again. In fact, the whole plan was that it wasn’t supposed to happen again. It’s just—

Eden’s Twilight only ever attracts fumbling drunks or douchebags who try to slip their hands down Allison’s pants within the first minute of dancing. It’s just that Allison is still riding the high of their win tonight, is looking hotter than maybe she ever has, and keeps zeroing in on where Renee is talking quietly with the monster at their table. Perhaps most importantly, she’s feeling possessive.

So.

“Allison,” Renee says, palming the side of Allison’s throat, her thumb digging in behind Allison’s ear. Allison kisses her again, bites down on her bottom lip before moving lower until her lips are at the hollow of Renee’s throat and she’s breathing in the tang of Renee’s perfume: basil and citrus. When she drags her teeth there, Renee’s head tips back against the wall and she sighs like she wants Allison to do it again.

Allison wishes they were in her bed instead of the bathroom, wishes she could kiss Renee slowly and take her time instead of hurrying before someone comes knocking on the locked door. She wishes Renee would say her name like that all the time.

Whatever. Allison can make do.

Allison takes Renee’s hands and guides them to her hair, encouraging her to pull. Then she sinks to her knees.

***

It turns into a habit.

They do it a dozen times over the next couple of months, sneaking into each other’s rooms or cornering each other in dark corners or stealing time in the Court’s showers. They usually make it quick, and they never talk about it.

Which means she doesn’t help Renee fix her hair. She doesn’t reach out to straighten her collar or smooth out her skirt. She doesn’t grab a towel and tenderly wash them both off once they’ve finished. She doesn’t stop Renee when she gathers her clothes and tiptoes out of Allison’s room, and Renee doesn’t say anything when Allison does the same.

Allison isn’t a baby. It’s not like she doesn’t know how to handle having a friend she occasionally sleeps with. Sometimes you want something quick and easy with no questions asked. The sex is good—spectacular, even—and Renee isn’t expecting Allison to take her down the aisle. Things continue as they always have. Renee still asks Allison if she can borrow her hairdryer and Allison still tells Renee when she does a good job during practice, but now sometimes Renee’s hair is wet because she joined Allison in the shower. Now Allison lets the compliment slip while they’re squished between the lockers and trying to keep quiet. It’s as uncomplicated as Allison can hope for.

It’s just that—sometimes Allison wishes she could ask Renee out for dinner. Sometimes she wants to hold Renee’s hand just because she can, not because she’s pinning her down. Sometimes she wants to kiss Renee slowly and take the time to explore.

Sometimes Allison remembers her plan the first time around, thinks of all the things she was prepared to ask for.

***

During their next game, Allison gets hit.

It’s not completely on purpose, though knowing Exy players, it’s not completely on accident either. Allison has been shadowing the Cougars striker the entire first half, checking him and stealing the ball at every opportunity. He’s taller and burlier than she is, but Allison knows how to gnash her teeth and show someone hell, so it doesn’t take long for him to get frustrated.

The next time the ball heads their way, the striker moves a split second before Allison, which means his shoulder ends up colliding with hers and the end of his racquet hits her square in the jaw. Allison gasps and does a 180 into the wall behind her, clacking her helmet against the glass. She spends a few seconds working out her jaw and blinking away the pinpricks of white at the corner of her vision while the sound of Matt's voice filters past the buzzing. He sounds angry, probably on the verge of getting a yellow card from the referee if he doesn’t start to back off. Allison's life is clearly meant to be lousy with dumb men who misplace their chivalry on her. 

A hand alights on her shoulder. “Allison?”

For a second Allison thinks she might be hallucinating, but when she glances over, the goal is empty. “Renee?”

Renee gently hooks two fingers in the facemask of her helmet. Her big brown eyes flit across Allison’s face. “How’s your head?”

“Not too bad.”

“Allison.”

“It’s not. My face fucking hurts, though,” she admits, tonguing her bottom lip. She can feel where it split. Her helmet limited the damage, but that son of a bitch was pissed and had intentions.

Renee unhooks her fingers. “Go see Abby.”

“What? Renee, I’m fucking fine.”

“It’s a head injury. It’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“No.”

Renee’s face is as cloudy and serious as Allison has ever seen it, which isn’t fair considering Allison was the one thrown against a wall. She might be tempted to argue just to be petty, but behind them, the referee is blowing his whistle, motioning for them to hurry up. Fuck.

“Fine,” she relents. She takes Renee's gloved, outstretched hand and makes her way to the doors with Renee at her elbow.

***

That night, when Allison circles her fingers around Renee’s wrist in the hallway between their rooms, Renee eases out of her grip and says, “No.”

Allison freezes. She lets the silence stretch out before licking her lips and saying, “Abby cleared me. No concussion.”

“I know that.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I can’t keep doing this,” she says, shuffling so she can meet Allison’s eyes. “I can’t keep sleeping with you and pretending nothing is different. I'm sorry.”

Allison nods slowly, blowing out a short, dry laugh. She takes one, two, three steps back. “Right.”

“Do not start."

“Don’t start what?”

Something dark flickers across her expression. “This is unfair. You were the one who decided how things would be, Allison. You decided—“

“When did I decide? Did you ask me?”

“You acted cagey when I tried that first morning,” she says, and there it is, out in the open—the thing both of them are too cowardly to talk about. “You were the one angry that I tried talking about it to you.”

“I was pissed because I wanted to ask you out, Renee!” Allison explodes. “And then I woke up the next morning and you were gone! What the fuck did you expect me to think?”

Renee stares at her quietly, not saying a word. Allison scrubs a hand through her hair, feeling awkward and pathetic and oddly naked. All the things Allison never is. God, she really wishes she were drunk. 

“Why didn’t you say something?” Renee asks finally.

“Like I said,” Allison grumbles. “I was pissed.”

“After that?”

She shrugs. She’s not good at this part. Even with Seth, they never talked about anything. All Allison ever did was throw tantrums and make him jealous until they both broke and fell into bed. Then he died. That relationship is gold proof Allison only knows how to fuck things up, never ever gets to keep the things she wants.

It’s like she said. If any of them ever got what they deserved, they wouldn’t have each other.

But right now Renee is watching her with her huge, brown eyes, and Allison isn’t good at practicing restraint, and it’s never taken her much with Renee.

Renee steps forward, hooks her fingers in Allison’s pajama bottoms, and pulls her in until they’re in each other’s orbits. “Do you still want to ask me out?”

Allison lays her cheek against the crown of Renee’s head and sighs. “Yeah.”

“Ok,” she says, smiling, “then yes.”

She doesn't hesitate before cradling Allison's face in her hands and nosing in to kiss Allison, unhurried and worshipful and absolutely fucking perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> if u enjoyed that and are feeling bonkers, off the rails, apeshit, etc. maybe consider [rbing the post on tumblr](https://quensty.tumblr.com/post/618579981660979200/fic-the-witched-hours-of-want-all-for-the-game-i) (you'll be my ride and die) or hitting me UP @[quensty](https://quensty.tumblr.com/) and telling me what u thought! 


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